


L-O-V-E

by getoffmyhead



Series: Unforgettable [5]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Beijing 2022 Winter Olympics, Epilogue, Established Relationship, M/M, Team Canada, Team Russia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22419316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmyhead/pseuds/getoffmyhead
Summary: After missing out in 2018, Sid jumped at the chance to return to the Olympics in Beijing and represent Canada there one last time.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Series: Unforgettable [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559743
Comments: 10
Kudos: 114





	L-O-V-E

**Author's Note:**

> This epilogue was previously posted on Tumblr, but I was having issues with the link so now it's here--bona fide.

**Beijing  
2022**

Muzz moved for the first time in hours at the jolt of the plane’s wheels touching down, lazily emerging from a nap Sid had spent much of the flight envying. He couldn’t sleep on planes anymore like he could when he was twenty. Muzz cracked his eyes halfway open, stretched his back, and spoke before he finished yawning. “Are we here?”

“Yeah, bud,” Sid replied. “We’re here.”

That woke him up. Muzz turned away from Sid to flip up the window cover and looked out in awe. It was his first Olympics, the first time he was eligible since the NHL didn’t allow them to go in 2018, and he was justifiably excited.

“Dude, look at all the lights,” Muzz said, awed. Sid looked out. Beyond the runway, Beijing sparkled.

The plane lumbered to a stop, and Sid gratefully unbuckled his seatbelt. His knees popped when he got up, a new development over the past season or so. He was starting to show his miles, falling apart faster than Andy could put him back together in the summer. Barring any impending miracles, this would be his last Olympics for sure.

“You talk like they’ll have to wheel you straight into the nursing home when you get back,” Taylor teased when Sid expressed some worry about all the nagging injuries of the season catching up with him in Beijing. “Are they going to let your walker on the plane or do you have to check it?”

“It’s a charter, so I’ll be able to keep it with me,” Sid replied with a straight face and only cracked when she launched a grape at him across the table.

Sid grinned to himself at the memory while he shook his legs out, trying to appease his joints before walking. He would never live it down if he tore something while disembarking and got put on IR for the games.

Team Canada had arranged for a bus to meet them on the tarmac and take them straight to Olympic Village. Sid’s traitorous knees went from being crammed into an airplane seat to being jammed into the seatback of the row in front of him on the bus, something they complained about all the way from the airport. Sid made it to their destination relatively unharmed, but he certainly looked forward to a long stretch of freedom without getting back into any vehicles. 

Shea hadn’t come on this trip–either hadn’t been asked or declined–so Sid roomed with Muzz instead. As the only two Penguins on the team, it felt appropriate to stick together. Besides, Sid knew for a fact Muzz possessed the most essential quality of a roommate–he didn’t snore.

The room held no surprises for Sid–two beds, bare walls, tiny bathroom. He plopped his bag down on the foot of the far bed and sat beside it to pull out his phone. No messages.

“This is awesome,” Muzz said, standing at the foot of the other bed.

“What?” Sid asked, genuinely perplexed.

“The comforters. They have Olympic rings on them.”

Muzz had his name on the Stanley Cup twice, and he was impressed with a print of five rings on the bedspread. Still, Sid didn’t mock him. Muzz was just buzzing, excited about everything. Sid tried to remember what it felt like when he was in Muzz’s shoes in Vancouver, how he dealt with those nerves, and said, “Hey, let’s go grab a drink, eh?”

“A drink?” Muzz asked, befuddled. He was used to at-home Sid, who really didn’t drink much.

“Sure, it’s the Olympics,” Sid continued, rising and dropping his phone into his pocket, where he would hopefully feel it if it buzzed. “Let’s go celebrate.”

A smile crept over Muzz’s scruffy face, the joyful realization clearly hitting him again that–holy crap–he was at the Olympics. “Alright, yeah. Let’s do it.”

They ended up at a bar not far from the village where the bartenders thankfully spoke English. Sid texted his location but then vowed not to bother with his phone again unless it notified him. It did no good to fuss about that which he could not control. Instead, Sid sat on a barstool and talked to Muzz. Sid tried to ask a lot of questions: what other events Muzz planned to attend, who he wanted to meet, whether he planned to shave for the opening ceremony. The last one was a joke and got treated that way.

Sid’s phone stayed quiet and still in his pocket, which he tried not to worry about. He thought he would have heard something, good news or bad. Even if there was a delay, Sid would expect to get a text about it. He forced his mind to calm down, focus on Muzz. Fretting would change nothing. Travel days were hectic. It was nothing to worry about.

They were on their second beers when Muzz’s sharp goalie eyes flicked over Sid’s shoulder to the door. “Uh oh, don’t look, but some big Russian guy is staring at you.”

Relief flooded Sid’s body–-this was so much better than a text–-and he fought his mouth for a smile. “How do you know he’s Russian?”

“Lucky guess,” Muzz said, internal laughter crinkling up his eyes. “Oh no, he’s incoming.”

“What do you think he wants? An autograph?”

Muzz snorted and turned away, unable to pretend he wasn’t giggling. Sid forced his face to continue playing along with the gag while a body slid into his personal space. A hand stretched out onto the bar, bracketing Sid in. It had a ring on it.

“Buy you drink?” the guy said in a Russian accent, maybe less thick than it once was.

“I don’t know,” Sid teased, sizing the guy up out of the corner of his eye. “Your husband won’t mind?”

“I can ask him.”

Sid turned and faced Zhenya with his chin tipped up. “Well?”

“I can buy this hot guy drink?” Zhenya asked, trying to sound smooth.

Sid lost the battle with smiling, and it took over his face immediately. “Come here,” he said, pulling Zhenya in for a brief kiss hello. They had been apart for almost a week while Zhenya went and practiced with Team Russia, Sid doing the same with Team Canada. “Thanks for texting when you landed, jerk.”

Zhenya wrinkled his nose at the criticism and slid in next to Sid. “I’m busy, you know?”

“Uh huh,” Sid said flatly, but with a forgiving shrug afterward.

“Hey Z,” Muzz said when Zhenya nodded at him. “How was the flight?”

“Bumpy. Forget how Russian plane is.” Zhenya said, then ordered a beer and three shots of vodka.

“Oh man, shots? Aren’t we all a little old?” Sid tried hopelessly--the bartender was already pouring.

“No, we do shots,” Zhenya insisted. When the shots came, he slid two over and lifted the third. “Celebrate. First Olympics for Muzz.”

Sid bit the bullet and raised the little glass of vodka, then slammed it back. It tasted, as usual, of rubbing alcohol.

Muzz stayed with them through his second beer but then stood up. “Alright, party animals. I’m going to bed. Don’t stay out too late. Be sure to drink water.”

“Okay, Dad,” Zhenya teased, prompting Muzz to sneer playfully at him. They’d hit it off right away when Zhenya arrived in Pittsburgh. Easy going Muzz got along with everybody, but Zhenya seemed uniquely able to get him to relax and joke around.

With Muzz gone, Zhenya snuggled up close to Sid. He was more lapdog than man sometimes, particularly when they’d been apart for longer than a couple of days.

“Been long time, just you and me in bar alone,” Zhenya mused. “Like date.”

“Whose fault is that, homebody?” Sid poked. Zhenya never wanted to leave the house for anything but ice time and games.

Zhenya snorted. “_You_. Always score, like, six-hundred goal seasons, always playoffs every time. Always too busy for date. Can stop now, Sid. Two Cups is fine.“

Two Cups were far from fine for Zhenya. He was driven like no one Sid had ever played with before, a force of nature in a Penguins jersey. Everybody else saw it, too, which was why it was only Zhenya’s second season when the team gave him the A. Then the third season, they won their first Stanley Cup together. It was something Sid was starting to lose hope on ever happening to him, and he got to share it with Zhenya. The next year, they did it again and absolutely cemented Zhenya’s legacy to the team.

"We can be lazy now,” Zhenya concluded with a silly grin, flopping even closer to Sid.

“You say that, but I see you working out. Getting stronger. What’s that for, if not another cup?”

“Keep up,” Zhenya retorted, curling a hand briefly around Sid’s bicep and squeezing.

“What if I did agree to stop, eh?” Sid mused, only half teasing. “What would you do?”

“Not believe you.”

Sid barked a laugh at the dry delivery. “I can’t play forever. Should have heard me on the plane, knees rattling.”

“I know, so old. You get white hair.” Zhenya pulled back to perform one of his new favorite routines--pointing out the multiplying greys in the hair at Sid’s temple. It delighted him every single time and he always bragged that he found more than ever before. “So much!”

“Yeah, yeah. You know, I was never going grey before you moved in,” Sid reminded him, swatting at the fingers combing through his hair.

Zhenya didn’t get insecure about Sid’s teasing, not anymore. He knew his place in Pittsburgh and in Sid’s heart. Instead of closing down or getting quiet, he dialed his flirty smile up and leaned in.

“Remember when we first meet? It’s just like this.”

“Well, I mean--” Sid looked around. From what he could recall, the first place they met was a sports bar with a muted wood interior. This was more like a club–-all color and neon. There wasn’t a television in sight.

“It’s same,” Zhenya pressed. “Like, this could be first place we ever-–” Zhenya stopped, but not before Sid caught on.

Sid nudged his knee against Zhenya’s. “You want to play strangers hooking up at the Olympics?”

Zhenya blinked at him and swallowed, bright hope in his eyes.

“I mean, it’s pretty farfetched. I’ll have to use my imagination a lot. Pretty sure nobody would ever pick up here. We’re all very serious athletes and-–”

Zhenya pinched his side, and Sid twisted away, laughing. “Don’t tease. I want to ask...”

Sid’s laughter died at the earnest affection in Zhenya’s face, something rarer and so much better than mere attraction. He leaned in. “Okay, sure. Want to get me drunk and take me dancing?”

Zhenya shook his head and leaned in even closer, lips brushing Sid’s ear. “I get hotel room. Outside Olympic Village.”

Sid cut a look at him. They had talked about it, of course, getting a place to sneak away to, but he didn’t think Zhenya had done it. Clearly, Zhenya had been planning this little roleplay for a while. That explained his rush to get to the bar when he arrived instead of texting and making plans. 

Zhenya touched Sid's thigh with a suggestive, hooded look. “Maybe you want to come?”

Sid’s mouth dried up. He knew Zhenya was just imitating what Sid said to Zhenya in a bar twelve years ago when they were strangers. But Zhenya’s soft bedroom eyes and low voice-–it was pretty effective, joke or not. Sid nodded and gestured at the bartender to close the tab.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned this is AU, right? Well, AU where Russia isn't banned from the 2022 Olympics even if the NHL lets players go. fiction > reality


End file.
